


Dia Proves Modern Art Scrubs Wrong

by Ethanol



Series: Ohmy people commission me to do this? [1]
Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethanol/pseuds/Ethanol
Summary: Modern art was something Dia could never appreciate. One day saw her visit an art exhibition of such a genre.
Relationships: Kurosawa Dia/Tsushima Yoshiko
Series: Ohmy people commission me to do this? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973674
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Dia Proves Modern Art Scrubs Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarlettholly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettholly/gifts).



Modern art was never Dia's cup of tea. Abstract, indiscriminate colors on canvas felt like a regression of traditional artworks that adorned her family home. She took two steps to the next exhibit, scrutinizing four blue lines of flat brush askew on a red gradient. A poor contrast, and what did it even mean?

"A juxtaposition between personalities and the modern society?" she read the plaque below the artwork. "What rubbish."

Dia moved on, heading to yet another uninspiring artwork. Was this all modernity had to offer? She breathed a sigh, not bothering to read the unrelated explanation of this particular work.

She stepped onto the next section of the exhibit, finding nothing new. A sculpture section filled with what she can only describe as garbage hot glued and calling it 'art.' Was this supposed to be a cow? Dia read the pedestal in front of it. "The growing abuse of livestock in agriculture."

An understandable concern, but poor execution. Dia hid her scoff at the amalgamation of dried straw and moved on, uncaring to the gathering eyes around her. It had been the same routine for the rest of the sculptures, bland and uninspiring. Before she knew it, Dia was standing in front of a humanoid statue. Fashioned out of dock chains and discarded iron. A curled body, two glimmering wings of metal shrouding itself.

Dia quirked a brow, eyes flickering down to the plaque.

"An angel fallen down to the impurities of the world." Her recitation was a whisper, a hand reached out to glide the curved wings. Her fingers met a cold surface, rough and displeasing. Dia drew her hand away, eyes down at her fingers.

The complete opposite of what she knew. "Nothing like the real thing."

Her remark heavy with lingering memories on her fingertips. The touch of a fallen angel both warm and inviting on her skin. This crude artwork was insulting. Dia spun on her heels, walking out the exhibit.

The crass sensation crawled on her hand, the memory offending the truth that she knew. When Dia left the building, her displeased huff hid nothing. Eyes narrowed at the promotional posters lining the building’s façade. A mocking presence that grated her teeth.

Dia collected a breath, her sigh stiff as she nodded to her thoughts. Modern art would never be her cup of tea. If her tastes were comparable to a steaming calm of green tea, then modern art would be lukewarm tap water.

The ambition glimmered in her eyes. Dia made purposeful steps down the sidewalk, the offense of visual arts behind her. She would make her own painting, and let experience be her brush.

On the walk home, she sent a simple text. It invited no argument, only a simple command to meet at her house. Dia ignored the constant vibrating of her phone, silent as she walked directly to her room, steps uninterrupted toward her utility drawers.

She knelt on soft Tatami, listening to soft hums of wood as the drawer slid open. Dia started with her paint bottles, rich pigments in luxurious glass. Next, her brushes. Stiff in their lack of usage, but nothing water could remedy.

Dia brought her art materials beside the open veranda of her room. Her gaze swept through the tranquil scenery, sunlight gleaming against the deck. She brought out an easel, setting her frame before retrieving a blank canvas. When she finished preparations, Dia stepped back. It would have to do given the spontaneity.

The doorbell rang through the house. Dia quirked a brow, walking to the front door. Earlier than she expected, but she wasn't complaining. Her hands gripped the door. It opened to an annoyed glare, impatient feet tapped against the front steps.

"Welcome, Yoshiko," Dia greeted, showing a polite smile. A gesture met with a steep scowl.

"'Welcome' my ass, Dia. Also, it's Yohane!" she snapped, tone harsh. Dia stepped aside, welcoming her in. "You could've at least told me why you wanted me here so quickly."

The door hummed shut. Dia looked down as she sat to remove her shoes. "My apologies, but there is a task I must do, and one only you can assist me with."

"Something important that you couldn't bother to tell me over text?"

"I was certain you would decline unless I asked you in person," Dia reasoned, stepping past her to the hallway. She looked over her shoulder, flashing a coy smile. "Now that you are here, it would be a commute wasted if you leave as soon as you arrived."

"You sly-"

"Now," Dia tugged a finger, urging her forward. "The task awaits you, Yohane."

"I told you it's-" Yohane stopped, the realization stealing her words. The silence pleased Dia, watching her follow without a word. She guided to her bedroom, a spacious luxury that always left Yohane in awe at every visit. Dia failed to understand how she was always floored at something so mundane.

Though, it was a wonder they both shared toward one another.

"What's with all the art supplies?" Yohane gestured to the canvas laid atop the easel. Below it are the assortment of paint, glass bottles glimmering in the afternoon light. Dia closed her door, taking a position behind the blank white.

"Sit over there." Yohane followed her gaze to a pale cushion on the floor. She complied, the stiff air leaving her posture rigid. She waited in the silence, her eyes watching behind the canvas. Dia was behind it, but there were no words as the silence stretched.

Yohane shifted on the cushion, worried that her posture was wrong. She stiffened at the sudden snap from Dia.

"Do not move."

"Y-yes." Her words tailed out in the settling silence, hands clenching and relaxing. Dia alternated her gaze between Yohane and the canvas, brushes gliding across the expanse of white. She toiled in the silence, each passing moment weaved the image in front of her.

"Dia, what exactly are you doing?" Yohane pushed through tight lips, not daring to make drastic movements. Dia peered past the rim of the canvas, disappearing out of Yohane's sight a moment later.

"I'm painting a portrait of you," Dia answered, her tone matter of fact.

"What?" Yohane shot her eyes up. "Why?!"

"Because I am here to prove something." Nothing followed after her response, not from Yohane's confusion nor from Dia's concentration. Another stretch of silence fell in the bedroom, filled with the distant chirping of birds and faint strokes of paint brushes.

Dia bit down annoyance as her work progressed. A long line of gray traced downward, deepening her frown. It looked nothing like the real thing. Had her memory failed her?

"I suppose mere memory is insufficient for this task," Dia breathed in defeat, stepping back to lament over her failure. Shadows shifted at the corner of her eyes. A moment after, she felt a presence beside her.

"What exactly were you trying to achieve, Dia?" Yohane asked, quizzical eyes scanning the canvas. Dia looked up, watching vibrant pink dart in scrutiny. Another blanket of silence, but one not caused by her.

A forced laugh broke the suffocating atmosphere yet doing nothing to alleviate its crushing gravity. Dia watched Yohane reach her hand out, hovered close on herself in art form.

Her hand glided, tracing the pattern of feathers that stemmed from the back. Dia watched, grimacing at the twitching fingers at every mistake.

"Yohane," She whispered out, her gaze followed up the arm to meet hers. "Do you suppose you could-"

"No."

Dia bit her lip. She knew it would be more complicated than simply asking. After all, her first encounter was nothing short of a miracle. An accident amidst vulnerability. Yohane stepped away, stopping but unresponsive to the sudden hand on her wrist.

"It was the one time, Dia." The words fell with a shaky voice. Dia stood up, standing behind with her grip unrelenting, but gentle.

"I promised to keep it a secret, and I won't ever break that," Dia spoke her reassurance in whispers. Yohane turned around, pulling her hand against the hold.

"Is that how you see me?" Yohane asked, her eyes fixated on the painting. Dia followed, shaking her head at the shattering mishaps of her work.

"I am trying to represent your true self as perfect as I can, but sadly there is so much I can work with from a sole memory." Dia's reasoning was met with quivering eyes. Yohane's gaze flickered away. The arm in Dia's grip lost its strength.

"If perfection is what you're looking for, then you won't see it from me." Yohane grimaced. A quirk of the lip that struck Dia. Words pooled heavy on her tongue, but there was hesitation at the sight of conflicted eyes.

"Yohane," Yet, Dia flew closer to this sun. Like a moth to a flame, she was entranced. "What do you mean?"

Their eyes met again. Yohane could see the unwavering persistence in strong emerald hues. She offered a pitiful smile, met with an unwavering silence. Dia held her breath as Yohane nodded her head weakly, releasing the grip on her arm. She took a step back, snapping her eyes away when Yohane slipped her jacket off. Dia kept her attention away from the soft shift of clothing, pushing away the thoughts of the actions unfolding in front of her.

Changing in the clubroom was normal, and the accidental glance at bare bodies amongst the club members was forgivable. However, right now was different. It was all intentional, and Dia had to remind herself of the true objective.

"Okay." A subdued shyness met her ears, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

A desperate arrogance prompted Dia to face forward. She took in every detail, focused on the flawless white. Her eyes saw nothing of the one she recognized as Yoshiko Tsushima. In front of her were wings. Recluse wings that huddled close to Yohane's body, concealing most parts of her body, and even lush raven hair.

Dia stepped closer, reaching a hand out. A warm, soft sensation felt upon her fingertips. Her mind scoffed at the insulting sculpture at the art gallery. Her touch sent a shudder up Yohane's back, the wings folding around her figure.

"Yohane," Dia spoke in a gentle voice, her hand combing through a sea of white. "Is this not what you call perfect?"

Her question was met with a scoff. Dia moved back as Yohane turned to meet her gaze. A tragic expression that contrasted the flowing radiance of her wings. She rolled her shoulders, folding her wings back to bare her body.

Reflexively, Dia turned away. Then, it was her turn to have a grip on her wrist, the sides of her vision flanked by wings. "Look at me and answer your own question, Dia."

A spiteful tone forced Dia to look. The embarrassment she prepared to feel was floored by surprise, one that left her mouth agape in shock. Yohane drew her wings back, allowing light to aid Dia's revelation.

Dia said nothing, her hand trailing up Yohane's arm. It was shameful on her part to stare, but her eyes seemed to gravitate toward the contrast amidst flawless skin. On what should be and only that.

Yohane watched in silence, biting her lip as Dia took care in skipping over bruised skin. An estranged, violent, frantic pattern. Most looked faded, others seemed a deep violet. Recently is what Dia painfully concluded to be the reason behind the difference.

Her eyes trailed to her chest, larger spots of violet melding into fair skin. Dia could only stall so much before meeting Yohane's gaze. Vulnerable eyes. Identical to when she first found out the truth.

"Who does this to you?" Dia pushed out, unable to mask the anger in her voice. Yohane shook her head, settling a hand atop the one hovered close against her chest.

"Being accepted for who I am in Aqours was a new feeling to me, and one I never thought I'd feel." Her words fell without pause, like a dam that finally burst. "But at the end of the day I go home, and I remember that it's only with Aqours I can freely be called Yohane."

Dia allowed Yohane to guide her hand, feeling the tender touch of her skin. She gritted her teeth as Yohane winced, their hand brushing past a violent blue just below her collarbone. Dia gulped, deciding her words carefully. There was no need for meticulous deductions. The answer was obvious.

"You got these at home?"

Yohane was silent, staring blankly at Dia. She asked again, her breath tense as their eyes met once more.

"Do you still think I can be perfection? For you? For your painting?"

Dia didn't answer immediately. Not from doubt, but from worry. Yohane grimaced, lifting her hand away from Dia's. "I thought so."

"Wait," As Yohane turned away, Dia spoke, freezing the fallen angel. Her eyes scanned what little she could see of her back, then up at the untouched arrangement of her feathers.

Dia's eyes softened, looking back down. It all made sense to her now. "You'd protect your wings every time it happened."

She stepped forward, taking Yohane's hand. "I can imagine no other scenario on why it all seems to be in front of your body."

Yohane's eyes snapped up, flinching her hand from Dia's grasp. "So what? What are you getting at?"

A soft sigh left them in silence. Dia lifted a hand, brushing daintily against her wings, leading it past Yohane's shoulder.

"To care for something so beautiful, to protect it with such selflessness. I cannot lie and call it flawless, Yohane. However, you are nothing short of perfection."

Dia found a glassy gaze, shimmering tears spilling at the corner of her eyes. Yohane stepped forward, enveloping her with both her arms and wings. Dia said nothing, holding the angel gently in her embrace. Her body was surrounded by warmth, an inviting softness that tempted her to hold tighter.

"If you need a safe place, you're welcome here anytime," Dia spoke, a promise shared only between both of them. There was a momentary quiet, then Yohane nodded against her chest.

"It's sudden, but is tonight okay?" Her voice was laden with hesitation. They pulled away to meet each other's gaze. Dia was first to offer a smile.

"Of course."

Her answer brought out a shy smile. Dia took notice of how Yohane's wings curled tighter at her breath of relief. They separated from the hug, Dia lingered for a moment longer to dry the fallen angel's eyes. There was silence, but it was a comforting pause after their heavy exchange.

Yohane bent down, picking her clothes from the floor. Dia understood and looked away, giving her privacy to wear her clothes. Courtesy was a trait Dia prided herself in.

Speaking of pride – Her gaze landed on her art. She shook her head, already decided.

"When you arrive later tonight, will you entertain my request of yet another task, Yohane?" The girl in question followed her gaze, landing on the canvas and easel.

"You're going to paint me again?" Yohane sputtered, her words rushed out. Dia gave a firm nod, walking to discard her failed prototype.

"My memory is fresh now, I can represent it clearer now." Dia stepped past her, heading over to her closets. She opened one, sliding the art in before taking a fresh canvas. "Besides, I still have a point to prove to those uninspired hacks."

She saw Yohane quirk a brow, then a noise of realization. "I told you that art exhibition was nothing but fresh garbage."

Dia scoffed a laugh, returning to the easel. "That's insulting. At least garbage is recyclable."

They exchanged looks, then erupted into laughter. The rest of the hour saw Dia painfully reliving her experience with the horrendous excuses for art, much to Yohane's interest. Though, it seemed to be more for Dia's reaction than the works themselves.

As she moved to cap her paint bottles and Yohane was readying to leave. She cleared her throat, stopping Dia. "What is it?"

"If you're so adamant about this," Yohane started, her tone shrunk, eyes glued to the floor. Her feet shifted, her next words a shaky declaration. "Then you won't need to paint from memory. I'll bare myself once more to you."

Dia gulped, caught off guard. Before she could say anything, Yohane left the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. "I'll let myself out, Dia. See you later."

She was left alone in the bedroom, completely still. Her recent memory for reference completely replaced by the sight of Yohane at the door, her face flushed red.

**Author's Note:**

> wowie my first commission. i had a lot of fun trying out something new, this pairing is a lot of fun and the themes were interesting as well
> 
> thanks to holly for the lovely title, it's great and i love it 
> 
> go to my twitter @beethanolol if you'd like to get in contact and maybe get yourself one of these badboys
> 
> till the next work demons, ya boy out


End file.
